


The Longer The Better

by sleepymccoy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Before and After, Communication, Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley Has Scales (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, No actual sex, and they talk about the sex, angst to fluff to implied smut, but it gets heated, but theres no in fic fucking, crowley has generally speaking a lot of demon features going on, i cannot decide between mature and explicit, it gets fairly heavy tho so explicit seems goodm, its not exactly a praise fic but its pretty close, so im going explicit to be safe, that gets fixed, thats the plot, we do a fade to black kinda scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26574613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: Crowley has had it in his head that Aziraphale doesn't like it when he wears his hair long. One night, years after they made the switch to a romantic relationship, Crowley takes his hair out and it prompts a very difficult discussion for both of them. But one worth having. Half the fic is fluffy recovery, don't worry
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 337





	1. Well, We're On Different Pages

"Sorry," Crowley grumbled, reaching up for his hair tie. He'd tried to keep it together, but Aziraphale had opened a new book and settled in, which meant he wasn't going to be invited to leave any time soon. He was at his wits end. 

"I'm going to just-" Crowley continued as Aziraphale ignored him. The hair tie was tight, tighter than he should have done it. He'd twirled it into place as a ponytail then changed his mind at the last moment to make a bun. It had been pulling on his temples unforgivingly for hours now. "It's giving me a bit of a headache, is all."

Aziraphale hummed absently, as if to say he didn't care, but Crowley knew better. Crowley sighed. His fingers caught in the hair tie, moments from pulling it free. 

"I can get going if it's going to bother you, though," Crowley offered.

Aziraphale looked up from his book. "What?"

Crowley raised his eyebrows, waiting for Aziraphale's mind to catch up. It didn't. "I'm taking my hair out," Crowley explained.

"Oh," Aziraphale said. His mouth settled into a hard line and he returned his attention to his book. "Very well, dear."

Crowley hesitated. "All good?"

"What are you talking about?" Aziraphale snapped, his face turning towards Crowley but the focus of his eyes landing just off to the side, over Crowley's shoulder. Not meeting his gaze. "Why would you leave just to let your hair out?"

"Well, you know," Crowley said because Aziraphale did know. And Crowley was reluctant to voice it. "You know," he repeated as Aziraphale's expression remained blank and exasperated. Crowley frowned and felt a lick of annoyance run up his spine. "You do know, angel," he admonished.

"Oh," Aziraphale said in such a way that did not indicate that he was accepting that he knew. It indicated more that he thought this interaction was pointless and ridiculous and wished it behind him. And, sure enough, he followed it up with a change of topic. "Come here, I'll read this passage out."

Crowley pulled the hair tie from his head and spent a moment shaking his hair out, relishing in the slight pain and great relief it brought. He knelt on the couch and shuffled closer to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale's chair slid closer to the couch edge, pushed with little effort on a path that most would have found difficult. Crowley caught Aziraphale's eye and the beginnings of his comfort curdled at the sight of the angel's expression.

Aziraphale's mouth was taught, a firm, straight line of disapproval. His eyebrows tucked into a frown and the glimmer of happiness gone from his eyes. As Crowley observed he saw Aziraphale swallow, his mouth hinting at opening into an outright sneer. 

Crowley quickly pulled his hair back up, hurriedly tying it into a ponytail. 

"Didn't you say that was giving you a headache?" Aziraphale murmured. 

Crowley felt his arm muscles wanting to shake, but he refused them that luxury. He had been stupid, he knew Aziraphale's dislike of his hair and had forced it between them regardless. Aziraphale was too good and kind to keep him in discomfort, but the plain distaste in his expression at the sight of Crowley's long hair was enough to remind Crowley why he did his best to wear it short.

"Yeah, but you-" Crowley started. He shouldn't bang on about it, his hair was up now and not pinching his temples so badly and he would be invited to leave before long. Then he could let it out more pleasantly at home.

"You looked- you know, that look," Crowley mumbled. He swallowed and grinned, settling into his arms to peer up at Aziraphale winningly. "I don't need to do that to you, it's a nice night," he said, offering his apology for his misstep that way and ready to move on.

But Aziraphale frowned. His book was held open at his page by a lazy hand resting on the crease, outside of his attention. 

"What look?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley sighed. His grin had been weak and now it faded. They could discuss the look, then. Perhaps Aziraphale wasn't sure Crowley understood, and Crowley was willing to prove it. Crowley was willing to jump through whatever hoops Aziraphale pointed to. Even if he just hinted, Crowley would be there to jump.

But he smiled like he didn't care, because it wouldn't do to let Aziraphale think he'd hurt Crowley. It was simply a preference, a skin deep one that didn't matter between them. Crowley didn't have physical preferences, but he found it endearing that Aziraphale did. He was so particular, after all, it was right that he would be that way with Crowley too. And Crowley could mould to fit him. 

"Like you've swallowed something disgusting," Crowley said lightly. Aziraphale looked blank, so Crowley repeated himself without the simile. "Like you hate to see what you're seeing."

Aziraphale's hand twitched, his nails scratching the paper of his book slightly. "I don't think I made an expression like that, Crowley," he whispered. 

Crowley paused. Aziraphale seemed upset. "It's okay," Crowley said kindly. He sat up a little, leaning on the couch arm towards Aziraphale. He huffed a laugh, a gentle one, to prove he was unbothered by the topic. Aziraphale shifted, his head tilted in and his shoulders seemed to relax a touch.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, "I'm not sure I understand yet, my dear. What do you think I dislike in this way?"

An itching discomfort in Crowley's spine began to twinge. He shifted in his seat, leaning against the back of the couch and slightly further away from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was quiet, not letting the strain of the question break. 

"This gonna become a shit on Crowley night?" Crowley spat. 

"I don't think so," Aziraphale muttered, not meeting his tone.

Crowley settled into place, resigned himself to the path of the evening, and jumped through this hoop. 

"My feet, for one," he said, his voice slightly sour. Aziraphale's eyes pinched in sadly, and Crowley regretted his sourness. "It's okay, angel. I don't mind."

Aziraphale swallowed, loudly enough for Crowley to hear the click of it. 

Crowley continued. "You don't like long fingernails, the way they scratch. Or the way my eyes go full yellow when I'm-" he waved his hand in front of his face, vaguely indicating his eyes. "Any which way. I think you've gotten used to them normal, but not- yeah."

Crowley trailed off. Aziraphale's eyebrows hadn't lost their sad pitch and he was loathe to continue. 

It hurt to admit to these things Aziraphale disliked about him, and he resented himself for the hurt. He shouldn't be hurt by it, Aziraphale loved him despite it all, that meant so much. The love Aziraphale held for Crowley's soul, his very essence, regardless of body, should be treasured. Crowley wasn't treasuring it enough, and he felt horribly guilty for it 

"Keep going," Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Please."

It only took one breath to steel himself, and then he dived into it. "I've got pointy hips, I know I've knocked into you a few times. Touching them reminds you o'that. And my scales, I know they're awful. Sometimes you find it funny when I hiss, other times it- you hate it other times. And, and some of my clothes, I know you don't like."

"Your clothes?" Aziraphale repeated. 

"You didn't like what I wore in France when I- when you were in jail, right?" Crowley proved. "Or when I went to the Opera with Warlock in that dress, we'd've had such a nice night if I hadn't worn that stupid dress, right, angel?"

"We had a lovely night regardless, dear. What else?"

"Well," Crowley said reluctantly, "long hair."

Aziraphale paused. "Is that all?"

Something sick strangled Crowley for a second. "There's more?" he gasped.

"No, no, oh, dearest, I was just checking," Aziraphale said quickly. He was moving in his seat like it was uncomfortable. "I didn't wish to interrupt you if you weren't done."

Crowley ran a hand down his face desperately. "I'm really not enjoying this conversation," he admitted.

Aziraphale shifted, sitting almost sideways in his seat to reach across the arm rests to Crowley. His fingers reached Crowley's wrist and pressed gently, touching him without holding. "I know, darling, and I'm so grateful that you told me all this regardless. I'm very grateful."

Crowley didn't really understand, but he nodded. "I might be off," he grunted. "Get home for the night." He didn't move yet, he didn't want to break contact with Aziraphale, the feel of his fingers was far too pleasant as the rest of his skin crawled uncomfortably. 

"Must you?" Aziraphale asked. "I mean, of course you can, but I'd rather like to think a minute and defend myself to you."

The choking sensation had passed and Crowley began to feel in control of himself again. He grinned, it was hollow at first but as it settled on his face he felt the expression even out into something believable. 

"No defence necessary, angel," Crowley said. Aziraphale did not seem convinced, so Crowley tried something a bit more honest. "It's just the way of it," he whispered, "and I know you love me regardless."

Aziraphale's fingers pressed into his wrist. "I do, oh, Crowley, I do. So much," he said seriously. Crowley grasped at the words, actively pulling on them to settle inside himself, to take the place of the dislike he'd been surrounded by for some time now. 

"But," Aziraphale said, and for a moment Crowley was raw and terrified. Then Aziraphale's thumb moved in comfort and Crowley reminded himself that he trusted Aziraphale. And that Aziraphale liked him. They enjoyed each other and that enjoyment was sincere and honest. 

"I'm not entirely comfortable with what you've said," Aziraphale said slowly, "and I would like to- I can muddle my way through it if you're frantic, my love."

Aziraphale liked to think on his thoughts, it was an active decision he'd made after apologising for a few barbs he'd thrown in the heat of a disagreement. Conversations between them took more of this form now, with breaks for tea and thought intermittently through them. 

"No, no, that's okay," Crowley said. He pulled his arm out from Aziraphale's grip and stood. "I'll make us some tea, yeah?" he offered, feeling rather like he was trapping himself in the evening. But there was no was he could walk away if Aziraphale wanted him to stay, no matter what he might have to face. And really, it was just a body. He shouldn't be so attached. 

But he was attached to it. He liked his body. He liked all of it, from his scales to his eyes to his pretty little pinky finger. And he wanted Aziraphale to like him as well, he wanted it so much. Too much. He craved being wanted. 

He shook the thoughts off.

"Be right back."

"Thank you," Aziraphale said. His gaze followed Crowley closely as he walked around the settee. "You look beautiful, Crowley."

Crowley glanced back to him and flashed a grin. "Flirt," he teased.

Aziraphale's answering smile was short-lived and unconvincing. 


	2. Sometimes Conversation Are Really Fucking Difficult

Aziraphale waited with appearing patience. He wasn't actually patient, in fact he was rather close to simmering with impatience, but he was physically still. 

Crowley was making tea. Crowley, making tea, so that Aziraphale had a moment to think. Crowley, who had just announced he was disliked by Aziraphale. 

"Wrongly," Aziraphale muttered to himself under his breath. He sighed. No matter how wrong, the problem in this was Crowley's belief. Aziraphale had not convinced him that he was loved.

No, not quite. He seemed sure of Aziraphale's love. He just believed he wasn't desired. That he was found physically unwanted. Disgusting, Aziraphale remembered him saying. 

The kettle whistled, but Aziraphale hadn't really figured out what to say. He was fairly confident he should take it all somewhat slow, however. Perhaps not beg forgiveness and kiss the length of Crowley's body as proof immediately. Although he was quietly sure that would come. 

He should talk. Describe what he likes. Describe why he likes it. Convince Crowley with words, then body. Then the apologies could come, when Crowley felt desirable. Until then there wasn't much point in an apology, as the fault hadn't been fixed.

But Lord in Heaven, Aziraphale was sorry.

Crowley sauntered back in, glasses on and a teacup in each hand. He passed one to Aziraphale and in the same motion spun and landed on the couch, not spilling a drop.

He grinned at Aziraphale crookedly. 

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale said.

"'course," Crowley said broadly. He pulled one leg onto the couch and grinned more. "Look, I think I got a bit serious there, but really, it's not that big a deal." He moved like he'd winked, but his glasses were particularly dark and Aziraphale couldn't tell. "You've got good taste."

An uphill climb to this conversation, then. Perhaps that wasn't entirely unreasonable, perhaps the time it took them to get to the point would make the point easier said. 

That point would be understood and believed tonight or Aziraphale would throw his best bow-tie into the Thames.

He turned and found Crowley had leaned over the arm of the couch, reaching for him gently. Aziraphale took his teacup with one hand so Crowley could hold his other arm. 

Fingers curled into Aziraphale's sleeve, and Crowley's jaw tilted meaningfully. Aziraphale realised Crowley was going for a kiss.

"Crowley-" Aziraphale gasped, saving the refusal too late for it to be seen as kind. Crowley stilled, millimetres from Aziraphale's lips and let out a breath. His eyebrows raised.

"You don't want to kiss me?" Crowley asked gently. Aziraphale heard the top layer in the words, the tease in them, the touch of guilt tripping he was sure Crowley wasn't proud of. But he also heard the sadness in being so refused, the touch of hurt that belied any mean intention. 

Aziraphale wanted to kiss him, yes. But he felt he didn't deserve it yet. 

However, Crowley wanted it, and Aziraphale's delay was making him sad. So Aziraphale leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Crowley's. 

The kiss lasted barely a moment, but it ran through Aziraphale's body leaving a wake of calmness. 

"Will you take your hair out?" Aziraphale asked at a whisper. "Are you willing to?"

Crowley's hands gripped tighter, tugging on Aziraphale's sleeve and pressing his arm down against his chair.

Crowley stayed close. And said, "No."

Regret and shame rose in Aziraphale again. "Give me another kiss," he said quickly, desperate for that calm to return, "if you w-"

Crowley kissed him, fully and without reservation. Aziraphale calmed again.

It didn't seem to Aziraphale that he had to fight to keep Crowley here, Crowley had made himself some tea and was holding his arm down rather tightly. That was not someone who was preparing to run. 

Aziraphale broke the kiss, then quickly leaned his head forwards to press his forehead to Crowley's. "There's nothing about you I dislike, my love," Aziraphale whispered. "Nothing."

He felt Crowley's head tilt in an eye-roll. "Okay," Crowley said airily, as if it were a big joke. "I'm sorry I-"

"No," Aziraphale interrupted. He left his teacup behind to wrap his hand around Crowley's jaw, holding him near and serious. "I don't want to hear you apologise to me. I've hurt you, Crowley."

Crowley sighed. "You haven't hurt me."

Aziraphale kissed him, briefly. "I'm so attracted to you," he said, trying desperately to pour the sound of honesty into his words. "Your long hair."

Crowley flinched.

"Your full eyes," Aziraphale pressed. 

Crowley pulled away.

"Your scales, dear, they're sexy-"

"Ssh-" Crowley hushed. He sat straight, not leaning towards Aziraphale any more, and righted his slightly askew glasses.

"You don't believe me?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley hummed. He fiddled with the arm of the couches, then glanced at Aziraphale and his shoulders fell. "I don't, angel, I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Aziraphale promised. Then he dived right back into speaking, he had so much to say. "You know I've wanted you these years, for centuries." 

Crowley leaned against the back of the couch with a defeated huff, lolling his head to peer at Aziraphale with an inattentiveness Aziraphale was sure was false. 

Aziraphale saw his unwelcoming audience, but knew that if Crowley truly didn't want to hear him he would simply up and go. So he continued. "I could never have you. I haven't been able to tell you, I must have- I've failed at that now, I should've been telling you."

"You haven't failed at anything, I'm fine," Crowley insisted.

"That dress you described, Crowley, I wanted you so badly," Aziraphale said, giving himself an easy starting place. Clothes were less personal, Crowley may believe he was wrong about that without having to accept something deeper. Because Aziraphale could see there was something deeper here, something deeply wrong. Clothes would be a start. "So much."

Crowley frowned and looked away, his head shaking in refusal as he did. 

"Crowley, I was half hard the whole damned night, okay?" Aziraphale said. "Whatever expression you saw came from a place of sheer desire."

Aziraphale didn't mind a bit of vulnerability. A bit of saying more than strictly necessary. Risking himself for the sake of another. Mainly for the sake of Crowley, if he were honest, but he was sure he might for others occasionally. And especially right now it seemed prudent to expose himself a tad, even the playing field. 

Even so, this embarrassed him and he felt his blood rush past his ears from it.

"Is that right?" Crowley drawled. 

"Yes, dear, yes," Aziraphale said. His mouth tugged at him sadly, but he was determined to not be sad. This was Crowley's night and Aziraphale wouldn't make it about himself. "And Paris, you said Paris, didn't you?" 

Crowley faced him again, although the glasses seemed nearly entirely opaque with how little Aziraphale could glean from behind them. Crowley raised his finger and wagged it suspiciously. "Now, you won't convince me there. You could barely look at me all afternoon."

Aziraphale grimaced. "I wanted to take your stockings off with my teeth," he said reluctantly.

There was a beat of quiet as Aziraphale pulse deafened him. 

"Ah," said Crowley.

"Yes," said Aziraphale.

It was quiet again, but this time Aziraphale blood began to calm and he could appreciate how soft the silence was.

"I like your hair long," Aziraphale muttered.

He caught a moment of Crowley's mean smirk before it wiped back to his neutral expression. "Is that right," Crowley said.

"Yes."

Crowley began to fiddle with the arm of the couch again.

Aziraphale spoke again, struggling to keep his words slow and considered. He felt close to exploding, he just wanted to kneel and beg and insist on his regret, his attraction, all of it. "I didn't want to say because I don't want to influence how you dress and change but, dear, I like it. I prefer it. The way it- oh, this feels so odd to just say!"

Aziraphale spread his hands open in his moment of panic, feeling the skin of his fingers stretch. He turned slightly to Crowley as if showing he held nothing, proving his innocence.

"You don't have to," Crowley said gently.

Aziraphale closed his hands and found it much easier to speak. Of course he didn't have to. Because, of course, Crowley would come to it all in his own time. If Aziraphale didn't convince him tonight, it would simply happen later.

So Aziraphale continued. He wanted it to be tonight. The least he could do, the best he could do, is fix this now. Not let Crowley leave still suffering under this misunderstanding.

"You'll have to forgive me if I fumble the words," he began, although he didn't really know where to go, "but the way it falls when you turn... It moves slowly, sliding off your shoulder beautifully. I can barely think when it's long."

Aziraphale realised he had been moving his hand as if imitating Crowley's hair, almost stroking his own neck as he spoke. He dropped his hands to his lap and felt his blood pulse in embarrassment again.

"It hides your neck then moves all at once," Aziraphale continued at a whisper, watching his hands and remembering times Crowley had worn his hair long, "and suddenly there's your neck revealed and all I want to do is kiss you and kiss you and know that any marks I leave would be half covered by your hair, close enough to hidden to be a secret."

Aziraphale took a breath. Crowley didn't speak and Aziraphale didn't face him to check if he wanted to.

"And when you lean and it casts your face into shadow," Aziraphale said quickly, his hand back doing its ridiculous mimicry, "your cheekbones are so sharp and your eyes so bright, it weakens my knees, dear Crowley."

Aziraphale took another breath, this one much more shaky, and braved to glance at Crowley. 

Crowley was sitting back in the couch, leaning so hard into the cushion that where his skin touched it he had gone white from the pressure. His hand on the arm rest was clenched tight, but the curve of his mouth wasn't unpleasant. Perhaps a bit wobbly.

"Are you lying?" Crowley asked. Definitely a wobbly mouth, Aziraphale thought. 

"No," Aziraphale said. 

Crowley shook his head. "I'll forgive you if you are, just tell me."

"I'm not lying." Aziraphale leaned towards him. "I'm sorry you've thought yourself distasteful to me."

Crowley shook his head again.

Aziraphale rested a hand on Crowley's wrist, just lightly. He was warm, which was uncommon for him.

"I like your scales, too," Aziraphale whispered.

"Shut up," Crowley said weakly. 

Aziraphale hesitated. Then, "I do, dear," he said.

Crowley stood, knocking Aziraphale's hand aside dramatically. "No, actually-" He raised his hand at Aziraphale, his palm open and facing him in the negative. He turned and looked away, his head bowing completely out of sight. "Actually shut up, angel."

Aziraphale shut up. He was rather too startled to do much else than obey.

Crowley's breath was loud now.

"I will tell you these things, Crowley," Aziraphale said softly, with the kind of gentle voice you use to not spook a scared animal. "If you hate to hear it you can leave and I'll find you out tomorrow to apologise and I shan't bring it up again unless you let me. But I wish you would stay and hear me."

Crowley's hand vaguely gestured at the door in a helpless kind of way and dropped. "Keh- thack," he said. 

Another moment passed, then Crowley spun on his heel and sat on the coffee table, his head immediately falling into his hands. His expression was hidden from Aziraphale, but he was clearly staying. 

Very well, then. Aziraphale preened slightly in relief.

"I find your scales sexy," Aziraphale said simply. 

Crowley shook his head, otherwise not moving. 

Aziraphale swallowed. "And your feet."

Crowley made a sound now, a high whimper in the back of his throat. Aziraphale recognised the pitch of it, he'd pulled unbidden sounds from Crowley when they fucked, but never had he heard it made sadly.

So he pushed on that point. He'd found doubt and wanted it snuffed.

"The way your leg joins to your ankle, your scales coiling up you, it's hypnotising," Aziraphale whispered. "I could spend hours happily following the curve of that, the path and pattern of the scales on your ankle."

"That's a dirty sort of kink," Crowley said weakly.

Aziraphale frowned. He wouldn't be pulled into this joke. "I'm no more attracted to your feet than I am anything else about you, love," he admonished. 

Crowley dropped his hand, the one nearer Aziraphale, and tilted his head to show a sarcastic smile. It was unconvincing, but Aziraphale appreciated the effort. 

"It's just you I want," Aziraphale said. "I want you…" he searched for the word, "... carnally."

Crowley shoulder moved back, shifting his body so he sat slightly straighter. Aziraphale couldn't see his eyes but from the pitch of his attention he knew he was watched. 

Aziraphale stood. "May I?"

"What?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale took the steps to reach him and kneeled at Crowley's left side, his genuflected body facing him. 

Crowley watched him and let him, moving his leg slightly so Aziraphale fit more easily between the couch and the table. 

Aziraphale kept his gaze on Crowley, trying and failing to meet his eyes. Crowley didn't flinch, though, not even when Aziraphale began to roll his trousers leg up. 

Crowley pants were tight, of course. Aziraphale could only get them to under his knee before the folds grew too difficult. He spared one last hopeful glance at Crowley, meeting steady sunglasses, and leaned in to press a kiss to the side of Crowley's calf. 

Crowley flinched. Aziraphale kissed him again, on his shin.

"Jesus Christ, angel," Crowley said hoarsely.

Aziraphale knelt back on his feet, looking at Crowley again. He was shaking. Crowley appeared to be too.

"I love your eyes when they're full," Aziraphale promised. "Let your hair out for me, would you?"

"Why?" Crowley gasped. 

Aziraphale shuffled back a touch, then leant forward to prostrate himself. He kissed Crowley's ankle where his boot blended with his skin.

Crowley leapt up, pulling his leg away from Aziraphale. 

"Fuck- I'm not- no, you can't do that," Crowley said loudly.

Aziraphale didn't move, just faced the ground and let Crowley jump on the couch to get away. "Okay," he agreed.

Crowley clamboured up the back of the couch and sat on high, looking down at Aziraphale. "I'm not-" he put his hands up. "I'm not comfortable with it, that's too-"

Aziraphale raised, sitting back on his feet. He turned towards Crowley but didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Crowley," Aziraphale said.

"It's okay," Crowley said hastily, "nothing wrong."

He'd overstepped, that was clear. So Aziraphale sat on the ground and waited the long seconds for Crowley's breath to settle before moving. He raised his head slowly, keen to prove he wouldn't be unexpected again.

Aziraphale leant on the table and pulled himself up to sit on it. He faced Crowley, keeping his distance. "May I continue to speak?" he asked.

Crowley shrugged wildly and laughed, the sound uncomfortable and high-pitched. "Hate to- ahh, to stop you when you're on a roll," he said.

So Aziraphale steeled himself slightly, and continued. "Your hiss turns me on," he said matter-of-factly. "It's disconcerting sometimes when you're annoyed and it slips out and suddenly I'm at half-mast."

Crowley laughed again, it was still uncomfortable but less high-pitched.

"I adore your pointy hips. How they might feel against my skin when you grind into me. The barest brush of them against me and it's all I can imagine, how they'd feel, how they do feel pressed to me. It's made me lose my train of thought more than once when you just happen to bump into me."

"Well, why-" Crowley asked, then stopped.

Aziraphale waited a moment before prodding him. "What is it?"

Crowley grimaced. "Why don't you say anything? When I'm bumping into you?"

Aziraphale leaned forwards onto his knees. Crowley glasses seemed to be getting paler, more transparent. He could see a hit of yellow behind them, the in-curve of his worried eyebrows. "This isn't recent, dear heart," Aziraphale said. "I've been- aroused by you for centuries. Since long before I could own it. I guess when it's not a natural progression of a moment, I don't like to mention it."

"Centuries," Crowley repeated.

"Yes." Aziraphale sighed. "I did think you knew, I didn't know this was a secret."

Crowley smiled and it nearly made Aziraphale cry. It was a real smile, a gentle and honest one. There was forgiveness in it, and, more importantly, happiness.

"I am so sorry you didn't know how you make me feel," Aziraphale insisted.

"You're really serious?" Crowley asked.

"Yes."

Crowley let out a breath, then pulled at his hair. The tie came loose and his hair tumbled down his shoulders eagerly. 

Aziraphale was careful not to overreact, not to overstep the intimacy again. 

"Well, isn't that lovely," Aziraphale said.

Crowley shifted. He seemed unsure of what to do next, hesitant and questioning. 

"Are you okay?" Aziraphale asked.

"Fuck on a tree, Aziraphale, this changes everything!" Crowley said loudly.

Aziraphale wasn't the biggest fan of changes. His blood ran colder at the thought of it. "How do you mean?"

Crowley laughed. He threw his hands in the air, leaning back into the open air behind the couch. His hair fell off his shoulders and swung out like a pendulum. "I thought you loved me in spite of my body, that you loved me enough to get past that. But you like all this?" He gestured towards his torso vaguely.

"Yes," Aziraphale said. He was still worried.

"Well, shit!"

"Is that worse?" Aziraphale asked.

"What?" Crowley snapped. He focused in on Aziraphale, like a wide beam suddenly narrowing on its target. "No," he said. He slid along the couch top a foot and dropped down onto the arm, his knees bending to his chest as he leaned towards Aziraphale with a smile. 

"No!" Crowley repeated. "What I thought I was putting you through every time we kissed!" 

Aziraphale sat on the edge of the coffee table and tried not to look as pitiful as he felt. He took a breath to ask for more from Crowley, more explaining, more honesty, more of this stabbing realisation, just a bit more kindness.

His breath shook and his voice failed.

Crowley sighed. His eyebrows had pitched in as Aziraphale had failed to speak. He spoke again, the surprised joy gone from his voice. "Having to grit your teeth just to show me you love me," he muttered.

"Let me hold you," Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley began to move immediately, slipping off the arm of the couch to the cushion, then slithering across easily to reach Aziraphale.

"You're upset," Crowley said softly as his hands reached for Aziraphale's arms.

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's wrists and pulled him close. Crowley left the couch, falling to the floor. He knelt between Aziraphale's legs and shuffled in to be near. He was up on his knees, nearly at eye level with Aziraphale, and responding generously to every weak pull Aziraphale exerted on him. As he settled between Aziraphale's knees a lock of long hair slid across his face, casting a thin shadow. 

"I'm filled with regret, Crowley," Aziraphale gasped. "I haven't told you enough how gorgeous you are, how- how sexy. You should never have had reason to be unsure of my attraction to you."

Aziraphale held Crowley in a full hug now, and as Crowley hugged him back his worry began to fade. Nothing was too far, he hadn't made such a mistake as to be unforgiven. 

Crowley's arms tightened around him. "Yeah, well, um-" Crowley said hesitantly.

"You turn me on, dear," Aziraphale said, his head buried in Crowley's shoulder. "The sight of you some years past- you could've bowled me over with a feather."

"Right," Crowley agreed.

"I'm helpless to it. I've never found a way to truly control myself, you'll turn and smile with those hips jutting out and I'll feel it through me."

Crowley began to move, to let go of Aziraphale and pull away.

"It's such an intimate feeling," Aziraphale continued, somewhat mindlessly. He just spoke, there was so much in him to say and make right. So he spoke, even as he let Crowley go. "The heat, the arousal. It often has no place, but there it is regardless, burning for you-"

"Angel," Crowley muttered. He stayed kneeling before Aziraphale, resting down on his feet so his face was a bit lower than Aziraphale's. 

Aziraphale leaned in and chased him. "I'm often quite desperate," he gasped.

Crowley's hands caught Aziraphale's face, his thumbs pressing against his cheeks gently. He held them close, centimetres apart.

"Angel, calm down, yeah?" Crowley said.

"Years of it," Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded. Those blasted glasses were still on, but now Aziraphale could see his eyes. They met his, wide and kind. "I know," Crowley said. "I believe you. It's okay."

Aziraphale tried to shake his head, but Crowley's hands held him still. "I'm sorry, you should have known."

"I know now," Crowley said steadily. He raised, kneeling up and pressing his hips against Aziraphale's thighs. His hands lowered to Aziraphale's neck, resting on his traps. "You kept us safe," Crowley said. "I was so reckless, all those years, you kept us steady and subtle and safe, angel, thank you."

Aziraphale closed his eyes. He could barely hear Crowley his heartbeat was so loud, but he saw darkness and focused and heard.

"You know all this," Crowley said. His words were slow and deliberate. Crowley rarely spoke like this, with thoughtfulness. Not that he wasn't thoughtful, but to actually think his words through and choose them? It was worth listening when he did. 

"And I'm so glad you told me this now," Crowley said. "The timing is wonderful."

Aziraphale took a slow breath. Crowley stayed quiet, his fingers filling the silence by exploring to the back of his neck and pressing into the tense muscle there. 

"I should've told you four years ago," Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley fingers stopped their massage, sliding around Aziraphale's vest collar to rest on his lapel.

"You told me things that mattered so much more," Crowley said. "And I put up a fight over them, remember? This was right to wait."

Aziraphale opened his eyes to find Crowley's smile. He dragged his gaze up and found Crowley's eyes, barely hidden by now mostly transparent glass, and pushed himself to believe.

"Look at what you've convinced me of now," Crowley said with a gentle happiness. "I believe you. Wouldn't've four years ago."

Aziraphale felt his smile before he meant to let it sneak out. But he smiled and Crowley's smile grew larger. "Crowley," Aziraphale said, not sure what was in his voice but quite certain it was emotional.

Whatever it was, it earned him a kiss. He returned it, easily and happily. 

Crowley leaned away first. "And I hate talking about my emotions," he said smartly.

"I know, dear," Aziraphale admitted.

"So," he said, very matter-of-factly, "if you're okay, I'd like to cheer the fuck up."

Aziraphale chuckled and began to extricate himself from around Crowley. "Would you make me a cup of tea?" he asked.

Crowley kissed him on the nose, then the lips, and stood. "Of course," he agreed.


	3. Kissing Doesn't Fix Things, But Boy Does It Help

Crowley passed Aziraphale his fresh cup of tea. He elected, more generously than his species ought, to not mention that Aziraphale hadn't had a sip of the previous cup he'd made. 

He had, however (in the interests of still being a demon sometimes), squirrelled the admonishment away to come back to. Not drinking a perfectly good cup of tea, and when it was made specifically at your request. Just plain rude.

Crowley laughed silently to himself as he settled in the couch next to Aziraphale, amused by the theoretical fight they would never truly have. Realistically, Aziraphale's defence for not drinking the first cup was solid. But Crowley's hypothetical Aziraphale lied more, and it was amusing to him.

"What's your favourite thing?" Crowley asked loudly as Aziraphale spun the teacup and peered in suspiciously. He always did that, even though Crowley's tea was invariably perfect. 

"About me," Crowley quickly added, in case Aziraphale began listing the qualities of full cream milk or some such shit.

Aziraphale hummed, took a sip, and hummed again. He looked perfectly thoughtful, which Crowley knew meant he wasn't really thinking but thought he ought to pretend he didn't already know the answer.

"Your wit, I suppose," Aziraphale said. "Or your kindness, it can depend on the day." He sipped his tea.

Crowley rolled his eyes as obviously as he could to get the exasperation across. "Physically, I meant," he snarled.

Aziraphale wiggled happily. His smile was smug. 

Bastard. A bit of a tease, as well.

"Oh, of course," Aziraphale said with poorly exaggerated realisation. Then, "Your eyes," he said. 

He sipped his tea. 

Crowley had expected something a bit more obvious. And, honestly, something he hadn't just been talked into believing was not simply awful. "My eyes?" He asked. These eyes? These snake eyes?

The back of Aziraphale's neck went pink. "Yes," he said.

"These eyes?" Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but the pink began to trail up his neck. "Yes," he repeated. 

"Not my lips?" Crowley asked. Partially to question. Partially because he thought he was rather good at lips. 

Aziraphale drank his tea. "Well, I like your lips," be said.

"Jaw?" Crowley prompted.

Aziraphale faced him. His cheeks were pink now. Crowley grinned.

"It's a lovely jaw," Aziraphale said.

Crowley waggled his fingers in front of his face. "You always like my hands," he said. Then he threw the arm that hand was attached to along the back of the couch, landing so that he could touch Aziraphale if he so wished.

"I do, I love your hands," Aziraphale said, "but my favourite thing is your eyes. Do you not like that?"

"Nyeah, s'fine," Crowley said.

Aziraphale settled back against the couch. Now Crowley was touching him whether he wished or not. He did wish, though, and quickly pushed his fingers into Aziraphale's hair fondly.

"I'm glad," Aziraphale added. He drank his tea.

"Gosh," Crowley said. Eyes, huh. Favourite thing. That was a bit to adjust to.

He pulled his glasses off his face slowly. He felt Aziraphale turn, his hair dragging through Crowley's fingers, and watch as Crowley peered curiously at his glasses.

He didn't really need them. They were cool, he wouldn't go without them all the time. And it was easy in winter to spread exasperation. But, if Aziraphale wanted to see his eyes…

And Aziraphale did want to see his eyes...

"Well," Crowley said, feeling a little like he'd just been told that water is a chemical, "won't catch me wearing these fuckers much more." 

He flicked his fingers and sent his glasses flying off into the depths of the shop.

Aziraphale turned to watch the arc, then faced Crowley again. "Those were for me?" he asked.

"More or less," Crowley admitted. "To save you from seeing too much."

Aziraphale's mouth was half open. "You-" He glanced after the glasses and frowned. "You've worn them since-"

"I care what you think," Crowley said, trying to inject his voice with as much  _ I don't want to talk about it _ as he could. 

Aziraphale's mouth closed. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought. This was a truly thoughtful Aziraphale, a focused and serious one. 

Crowley laughed silently to himself at the sight. 

Aziraphale finished his tea and set it on the table. "Crowley, I would never have guessed you were adjusting to my unspoken preferences," he said in a light voice. 

Crowley nearly kissed him in thanks. He was willing to talk, of course, but there'd been enough baring of his soul already tonight and he was feeling a bit like a tea towel wrung out of emotional juice 

Crowley leapt, pulling his legs up, curling his knees under him so his entire body was on the couch cushion and facing Aziraphale. 

"How about spoken?" Crowley asked.

"What?"

"Long hair?" 

Aziraphale paused. "This feels like a trap," he said quickly. 

Fuck, it had been a bit of a trap. "Then I'll say my meaning," Crowley adjusted. "You said you prefer it long, so that's how I'll wear it."

Aziraphale breathed out heavily through his nose. "Don't change for my whims," he said.

Crowley smiled. "I've been changing for you for years, I won't stop," he said. "I enjoy it too much."

Aziraphale still looked unsure. Perhaps he thought Crowley was obeying mindlessly.

"I may cut it short when it suits me to," Crowley added.

Aziraphale tilted his head. "I don't know-"

"You've been wearing pants with a tighter arse," Crowley pointed out. That shut Aziraphale up quick-smart. Crowley grinned and pointed at him. "Don't pretend that's for you. That's 'cause I like it, and I'm perfectly comfortable with that."

Aziraphale's shoulders relaxed as Crowley's point finally landed. 

"I prefer your hair long, yes," Aziraphale said. 

Crowley scrunched his nose, in the way Aziraphale sometimes did. He shuffled closer. "And my scales?" he asked. "Do you really like them?"

Aziraphale twisted his spine to face Crowley, to return the focused attention. "Yes," he said.

"How? Why?"

"Well," Aziraphale said slowly, "it's somewhat like your eyes, isn't it? There's emotion in it."

Crowley pulled his legs forwards to sit cross-legged at Aziraphale's side. He slid one arm along the back of the couch, moving Aziraphale slightly so his head rested in the crook of Crowley's elbow.

"Only because that's when I lose control of them," Crowley pointed out. Maybe that was it, more than the scales. It was the emotion. "Do you just like it when I lose control?"

"Well, yes," Aziraphale said. 

Crowley nodded, that made more sense to him. Crowley liked it when Aziraphale glowed not because he got off on glow-worms, but because it means Aziraphale was quite far gone and enjoying himself.

"And that's when they appear," Aziraphale said. 

"I can bring them forth any time," Crowley said.

"You can?"

"I just usually don't. Want to see?"

Aziraphale chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded.

Crowley shut his eyes and found the muscle he exerted to keep his scales hidden. It was an inflexible one, always tense and working. But he knew it and he forced it to relax for a moment.

He shivered, scales fluttering into being in a wave over his body. His skin hardened and darkened, then spun or cracked to form a distinct scale. A moment later the wave passed, travelling the length of his body slowly, and his skin returned to normal. 

Crowley opened his eyes. Aziraphale was focused on his neck.

Crowley's scales didn't cover his skin evenly when they emerged, they congregated more on the expanses of his skin, and in the divets where his shadows lay. He had to go full snake to get scales to appear on his cheekbones, but at the slightest push they show on his neck. 

Which was where Aziraphale was still staring. Even though the scales had disappeared now. 

Aziraphale's tongue darted out, wetting his lips briefly before he spoke. 

"Well, I say," Aziraphale breathed. 

Crowley tilted his head. "You like the vulnerability of them?" he asked. It seemed like maybe it was more physical than that. 

What was it Aziraphale had said? 

Carnal.

"And, well-" Aziraphale stopped and swallowed. He met Crowley's eyes briefly, then looked away. Crowley could feel himself drawing closer, whatever was happening he wanted more of it. 

"I'll have to get over the discomfort of speaking this way," Aziraphale muttered, "but it does feel a little like I'm objectifying you."

"I like the sound of being objectified by you, angel," Crowley whispered. He licked his lips and tasted the room. 

"Oh," Aziraphale sighed shakily. He shifted, his hands flat on his thighs. "There's an aesthetic to them," he said hesitantly. "They appear in a pattern that rather suits you. It deepens your shadows, makes the brightness of you stand out. You seem sharper."

Crowley leaned and kissed Aziraphale on the cheek.

"They're quite dark and alluring against a white bedsheet," Aziraphale said.

Crowley felt that in his abdomen. The idea of it, of being demonic and wanted, sparked in him eagerly. He leaned his head to the side, knocking his hair off his shoulder to expose his neck. "Touch me."

Aziraphale did, pressing a hand to the side of his neck.

Crowley flexed that stiff muscle again, and his scales skittered down his body, disappearing as they went. He felt their presence on his skin as they appeared against Aziraphale's hand. The warmth was nice.

"Oh," Aziraphale sighed. 

Oddly, Aziraphale didn't look like he had enjoyed that. But his hand stayed on Crowley's neck. Crowley studied him rather than pull away, and his expression was certainly carefully put on. It was that expression of distaste Crowley had first responded to as he'd taken his hair out, the expression he found insulting. 

It seemed out of place now. 

"What are you feeling?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale removed his hand, clothing them together in his lap. "Rather overwhelmed," he said in a rush. Crowley waited for him to continue, and after a moment he took the hint. "Quite in love, and rather lustful, I'm ashamed to say."

Crowley frowned. "You're ashamed to want me?"

Aziraphale faced him in a hurry, his expression open and regretful. "No, it just doesn't seem appropriate. After I've insulted you so long, apparently."

"It's okay," Crowley placated, not wanting to keep the worry around. "Anything else?"

Aziraphale hesitated. "Why?"

"I'm trying to figure out the expression."

Aziraphale sighed and looked at his hands, thinking a moment before speaking. 

"I'm concerned about upsetting you. I worry I'm taking advantage now, you were upset not ten minutes ago."

"You're holding back, then," Crowley pointed out. 

Aziraphale huffed a laugh. "I'm certainly restraining myself," he agreed. He glanced at Crowley, a small smile on his lips. "I do want you, dear."

Crowley moved with the realisation, swaying back as it took him. "Fuck, restraint makes sense," he muttered. He'd been seeing something negative, but not distaste, just self restraint. 

Crowley began to move, completely mindlessly. He tugged at Aziraphale and elbowed his way closer, muttering all the while.

"Angel, restraint makes- oh, fuck, angel. Aziraphale-"

"Dear-" Aziraphale gasped as Crowley slid into place in his lap. 

Crowley settled in, he fit comfortably straddling Aziraphale, his legs splayed to the sides to be close. He shifted in slightly to press himself to Aziraphale's chest, to kiss him, when he found himself in touch with Aziraphale's notable effort.

"Oh, you're fucking hard!" Crowley said, curling back to look down at Aziraphale's quite tented pants.

"Oh, I know," Aziraphale moaned, "I'm sorry, it's just-"

Crowley crowded in, kissing him and stopping his apology. "That's amazing," he said busily into Aziraphale's mouth. He ground down, a shiver running through his as he felt Aziraphale's dick hard to the point of discomfort as it pressed into the underside of Crowley's pelvis.

"Bless, I love you," Crowley whispered.

"I love you too," Aziraphale said quickly, speaking so fast and entirely that Crowley couldn't wrangle a way to kiss him again. "You're beautiful," Aziraphale said, "you're eyes are beautiful, you're just- you're breathtaking-"

Crowley wrapped his hands around Aziraphale's jaw, making it hard for him to speak, and tilted his head back to kiss him fully. Aziraphale's arms wrapped around Crowley's lower back, pulling him down from his slightly raised kneel to sit tightly in his lap again. They kissed, eager and wet, pressing against each other. 

"Can we have sex?" Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale turned his head to kiss Crowley's cheek. "Are you sure?" he asked. "It's been quite the evening."

Crowley considered his options briefly. He could answer and risk another conversation about  _ feelings _ and  _ vulnerability _ , or he could just- yeah. 

He ground down, tilting his hips so that on the upswing his dick would drag against Aziraphale's stomach obviously. He felt Aziraphale's effort, solid and thick, press into the tender part of his thigh rudely and chased the feeling that followed it. Aziraphale's hands quickly found Crowley's arse, his fingers gripping on tight to angle his body right. 

To Crowley's delight, Aziraphale pulled him closer and thrust up to meet him.

Crowley dipped his head to Aziraphale's side and kissed his ear, letting his teeth drag just enough to hear Aziraphale's breath catch.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, sounding fairly winded.

"Yeah?"

"You're calm? You believe me?"

One of Aziraphale's hands left his arse (although the other stayed confidently) and tangled in his hair, moving and directing the fall of it.

"Might surprise me for a bit, but yeah," Crowley said. "Believe you."

"I'm hard for you," Aziraphale whispered. His hand tightened, pulling Crowley's hair so his head tilted back. Lips were on his neck, nuzzling and whispering while his steady grinding movement was physically maintained by Aziraphale's strength. "For your body. This has nothing to do with your personality."

Crowley laughed. He tilted forward, pausing when Aziraphale's hand didn't move and forced his hair to be pulled. Crowley decided to test the waters and call his bluff, leaning through the pain to kiss Aziraphale. Sure enough, a moment passed and Aziraphale's hand relaxed, letting Crowley's long hair slip through his fingers unhindered. 

Crowley flirted with kissing Aziraphale, just resting his lips to the angel's. "What can I do to get you off?" Crowley asked.

He felt Aziraphale smile, and kissed it. They rocked, clinging onto each other and burning. Crowley knew how far gone he was, very far, and could feel the heat and hardness of Aziraphale proving he wasn't alone in it. 

"Take off your shirt," Aziraphale gasped. "I want to see your hair against your skin."

The buttons undid themselves and Crowley simply pulled the shirt off his shoulders, throwing it behind him. "Anything else?"

Aziraphale rumbled, the sound low in his throat, more felt than heard. 

Next thing, Crowley was in the air, held by the arse as Aziraphale stood and turned. He would have been alarmed, but this had happened to him plenty of times. He wrapped his legs around Aziraphale reflexively and held on close. 

A moment later his back was against the couch cushion and Aziraphale was pressing down on him from above. Aziraphale's fingers clicked and all their clothes flew away.

"Your eyes are perfect," Aziraphale whispered.


	4. Okay, Maybe These Kisses Fix Everything Actually

"Hey," Crowley said lazily. He was laying on his side, caught between Aziraphale's body and the back of the couch, his legs tangled up with the angel's. They were naked still but Aziraphale had thrown a blanket over them to keep a chill away. Their feet and torsos were poking out from under the blanket.

Crowley was reminding himself periodically to not duck his feet back under cover. It felt rather odd to have his scales and talons on display like this, but Aziraphale had been insistent on the whole foot thing earlier.

"Yes, dear?" Aziraphale said. His voice was like marmalade, melting into toast. Crowley stopped playing with the pale hair on Aziraphale's chest and snuggled closer. 

"You never touched on my nails," Crowley said. 

"What's that?"

"I was thinking now, all the things I thought you didn't like…"

Aziraphale's hand around Crowley back stilled, pausing its endless appreciation of Crowley's sharp spine. "Okay," Aziraphale said.

"Long fingernails, I said," Crowley whispered. He poked Aziraphale in the chest, the poke made sharp by his slightly long nail. "You never talked me out of that."

"No, well-"

"No?"

Aziraphale sighed. "I mean, they do scratch, dear!" he said loudly.

Crowley flattened his hand on Aziraphale's pectoral, his pinky falling off the side of the fat there. "You don't like them long," he said as he realised it. 

"They're so loud on your phone screen," Aziraphale said petulantly. "It's awful."

"You fucker," Crowley said with infinite fondness.

"I always get distracted thinking about how difficult they must be to type with."

"I can't believe you."

Aziraphale shifted, pulling out from under Crowley and rolling onto his side to face him. "Are you upset that I don't like them?"

Crowley smiled. "Obviously not, you beautiful, fussy creature."

"It's hardly fussy, I've never asked you to cut them! But no, I'm not a fan."

"Well, I like it."

"Then you should keep them long."

"I will," Crowley said matter-of-factly.

"Good," Aziraphale agreed, just as formally. 

Crowley scratched Aziraphale's hip.

"Crowley, don't!" Aziraphale cried, batting Crowley's hand away. 

Crowley laughed. He rearranged himself as he chuckled so he was pressed more fully against Aziraphale's front. He slid one leg up, resting his entire bent leg on Aziraphale's upper thigh. 

"There's one other thing," Crowley said. 

"Go on."

"One I don't think you know about."

"At all?" Aziraphale checked. "Or in this context."

"At all," Crowley said with a grin. He was fine about it, but could feel his heartbeat speeding up in his slight anxiety. And how close he was to Aziraphale, practically wrapped around him, he was sure Aziraphale could feel it too. "It's demon-y and snake-y and I think I've kept enough of a lid on it."

Aziraphale ran a hand up Crowley's side, up his arm, and to the hair that rested on his shoulder. 

"What is it?" Aziraphale asked.

"Take a guess."

"Do you turn into a puff of smoke?"

"What?" Crowley frowned, taken aback. "No. D'you want to fuck a puff of smoke?"

Aziraphale blushed prettily. "Oh, no, I didn't realise those were the guidelines. Um. So you think it's something I'll like?"

"I wouldn't've said so yesterday," Crowley said slowly. "But the way you reacted when my scales stayed shown earlier…"

"I didn't know they could stay on like that," Aziraphale whispered. "For so long, I mean."

"It was only that long 'cause of you. I thought you were gonna break my hip, you were simply fervent."

"Oh, no, don't say that!" Aziraphale cried out with a grin and a blush.

"You were, you were moaning and gasping and gripping onto me-"

"Crowley-"

Crowley grabbed at the blanket and pushed it down, showing his hips. "I think I've bruised, look," he said, indicating a couple of red patches that showed promise.

"Oh my," Aziraphale sighed.

Aziraphale's hand left Crowley's hair and landed on his hip, exploring the marks that matched his fingers perfectly. 

He lined two fingers up with two slightly darker patches of red and pressed in. Dull pain registered in Crowley, but mindless excitement overtook it quickly. Desire skipped past his rational mind, sparking from the young bruises straight to his suddenly half-hard dick.

Crowley lurched, moaning absent-mindedly. He pressed against Aziraphale, pulling him in for a hug like he was looking for safety. Aziraphale slid his hand from pressing on his bruise around to the back of his arse and held him close. 

"Angel-" Crowley sighed. Aziraphale didn't move, just held onto him. 

"What beautiful demon thing don't I know about?" Aziraphale asked. 

"You never guessed," Crowley said, more to buy himself a moment to regain his composure. 

"No, well, if it's not a puff of smoke then I've no idea."

Crowley unwrapped his arms enough to lean against the back of the couch again. He met Aziraphale's eyes, which were unexpectedly bright with emotion, and smiled. Aziraphale smiled back.

Crowley let his tongue split in two and darted the tips out to lick his lips. Aziraphale's eyes caught the movement. 

Aziraphale's eyebrows furrowed immediately. "Was that-?"

Crowley repeated the motion more slowly, 

taking the time to move the two tips of his tongue in independent directions. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath, letting it out steadily. Crowley might have been concerned about it except that in this intimate position, with his leg thrown over Aziraphale's hip and his ball resting on-top of Aziraphale's dick, he could feel Aziraphale beginning to get hard very clearly.

"Open your mouth," Aziraphale said. The words had a tinge of order to them, of an instruction he expected to be fulfilled. Crowley liked this voice, and he liked to obey it.

He widened his eyes innocently and opened his mouth like he didn't know why.

Aziraphale reached two fingers into Crowley's mouth and carefully pinched one tip of his tongue. Crowley's heart fluttered at the touch, then beat hard as Aziraphale began to gently pull Crowley's tongue out of his mouth. 

Crowley ran the free tip of his tongue, which diverted about an inch down, along the fingers that held the other tip. He rubbed a small circle into one of Aziraphale's knuckles and enjoyed feeling Aziraphale's breath catch. 

"Gee whiz," Aziraphale said. 

Crowley could feel spit gathering in his mouth, he was unable to swallow caught like this. His body responded eagerly, though, enjoying the confident manhandling, the slight belittlement of it. Particularly enjoying the fully hard dick pressing against his arse now. 

"Oo-iyke?" Crowley mangled.

Aziraphale's eyes cleared their glassy stare and he flinched. "Oh, pardon me, dear." He let go of Crowley's tongue "There you are."

Crowley swallowed and reminded himself to ask for that again some time. First, though; "What d'you think?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth for a full second before he spoke. "Gracious," he finally said. 

"You look a bit restrained again," Crowley pointed out. 

Aziraphale met his eyes. "Kiss me," he ordered.

"Is that all?" Crowley asked with a grin.

"Oh, I'd like you to fellate me as well, but kissing first."

So Crowley kissed him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for coming along for the ride, folks <3


End file.
